FatGuyStutter

a blog about gaining run by a guy who stutters

[stutteringfatgut]

it always interesting to catchup with friends at the social events. Especially since we seem to get fatter and fatter each time we meet.

At Maya’s cousin’s reception the buffet stretched the length of two long tables. You watched Lena approach first. Her black cocktail dress had been tailored for last spring; tonight the seams at her hips pulled tight enough to show the faint outline of her panties. She balanced a plate already heaped with fried chicken and macaroni, the fabric of her dress riding higher on her thighs with every step. When she reached the table she set the plate down and used both hands to tug the hem back into place, but the motion only made her belly press forward, soft and round beneath the stretched satin.

Across from her, Marcus was already on his second trip. His tux jacket had been left draped over a chair; the white dress shirt beneath it was translucent with sweat at the small of his back and clung to the new roll that had formed above his belt. He scooped another ladle of mashed potatoes onto his plate, then paused to adjust himself, the heel of his hand pressing briefly against the swell beneath his fly. He caught Lena’s eye and grinned, cheeks flushed from the heat and the food.

Jamal and Derek were stationed at the carving station. Jamal’s bow tie had been loosened; the collar of his shirt gapped where his neck had thickened. Derek’s cummerbund sat noticeably higher than it had at the last event, riding the curve of a belly that hadn’t existed two weddings ago. They took turns slicing thick slabs of prime rib, stacking them until the plates bowed. Derek licked a smear of au jus from his thumb, then reached for the horseradish without bothering to set the plate down.

By the time the four of you claimed a round table near the dance floor, the evidence was impossible to ignore. Lena’s dress had ridden up again; she kept one hand on her lap to keep the hem from flashing the lace tops of her stockings. Marcus’s shirt buttons strained at the chest; every time he laughed the gaps between them flashed pale skin. Jamal’s belt had been let out to the last notch, and Derek’s chair creaked whenever he shifted his weight.

Conversation looped from work to mutual friends to the open bar, but the real entertainment was watching each other eat. Lena cut a piece of cake with the edge of her fork and brought it to her mouth; a smear of frosting clung to her lower lip until she licked it away. Marcus reached across the table for the bread basket and his shirt pulled tight enough to show the dark line of hair that now ran from his navel upward. Jamal’s fingers were shiny with butter from the rolls he kept buttering and passing around. Derek’s second slice of cake disappeared in three bites.

When the DJ started a slow song, Lena stood first. The dress clung to every new curve, the zipper at the back visibly strained. Marcus offered his arm; his bicep brushed the side of her breast as she took it. They moved onto the floor together, bodies pressing closer with every step, the soft give of new weight meeting new weight. Jamal and Derek stayed at the table, finishing what was left on the plates, eyes following the couple while their own forks kept moving.

By the end of the night the four of you were the last ones at the table. Empty glasses and crumb-strewn plates surrounded you. Lena’s lipstick was gone, her mouth shiny from the last of the wine. Marcus’s shirt had come untucked on one side, revealing a strip of skin above his belt. Jamal’s bow tie hung loose around his neck. Derek’s jacket had been abandoned somewhere; his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, forearms resting on the table as he leaned forward, belly pressing against the edge.

Lena looked around at the three men and smiled, slow and knowing.

“Same time next month?” she asked.

No one needed to answer. The next invitation was already open on someone’s phone.

[stutteringfatgut]

Coach Daniels thought it was a harmless joke when he made the bet at the beginning of the football season.

Standing in front of the team during summer practice, he announced that for every game the team won, he would gain five pounds. Then, trying to motivate them in the classroom as well, he added another condition: for every class in which a player earned an A, he would add another five pounds. The players laughed, assuming there was no way either goal would make much difference. Coach himself was already a big man, broad-shouldered and carrying a noticeable belly from years of enjoying team dinners and post-game celebrations. He figured the challenge might cost him ten or fifteen pounds by the end of the season.

He was wrong.

The team started winning.

Then they kept winning.

At the same time, grades across the roster began improving dramatically. Players who had never cared much about academics suddenly spent their free periods studying. Tutors were booked solid. The library became crowded with football players reviewing notes and helping each other prepare for tests. Whenever a player earned an A, the news spread through the locker room faster than game results.

"That's another five pounds for Coach!"

The chant became a tradition.

Every Friday, the players would gather around a whiteboard in the locker room where someone kept track of the total. As the victories and report cards piled up, the number climbed higher and higher. Coach tried laughing it off at first, but the players took the challenge seriously. Some joked that they weren't just competing for championships anymore—they were competing to make Coach as big as possible.

By midseason, the changes were becoming obvious.

Coach's polo shirts stretched tighter across his middle. His belt needed new holes. During practice, he found himself sitting more often instead of pacing the sidelines. The players noticed every pound and celebrated each one.

"Coach, that shirt fit a lot better in August."

"Need help getting through the doorway, Coach?"

"Just wait until report cards come out!"

Coach would roll his eyes and pretend to be annoyed, but secretly he admired their dedication. For the first time in years, the entire team was excelling both on the field and in the classroom.

The season reached its climax with the team entering the playoffs undefeated. By then, Coach had gained far more weight than he ever expected. Team banquets, victory dinners, and the terms of his own bet had all contributed to his expanding waistline. The whiteboard calculation had become almost unbelievable.

Every win.

Every A.

Every achievement.

Five more pounds.

When championship day finally arrived, the stadium crowd noticed the difference immediately.

Coach Daniels emerged from the tunnel, breathing heavily as he made his way toward the field. His players watched with grins as he adjusted his whistle and slowly crossed the sideline. The walk that once took seconds now left him huffing and puffing. His face was flushed from the effort, and his shirt strained noticeably as he inhaled deeply.

The players erupted into applause.

"That's our coach!"

Coach shook his head and laughed despite being out of breath.

"You boys better win this game," he called out. "Because if you do, I'm going to need an even bigger wardrobe."

The team roared with laughter.

As they ran onto the field, they knew the season had become about more than football. The strange bet had united the team in a way nobody expected. Players pushed each other to succeed in class. Teammates helped struggling students after practice. Victories were celebrated not only because of the scoreboard, but because they represented everyone's effort.

And standing on the sideline, catching his breath while watching his team prepare for the biggest game of the year, Coach Daniels couldn't help smiling. He might have lost the bet spectacularly, but seeing his players succeed made every pound worth it.

[butch-texas-guarddog]

[stutteringfatgut]

It's always nice to go fishing with my cousin and uncle, although most of the time they spend their time sipping beer and eating most of the snacks they brought along.

[stutteringfatgut]

to all the fat dads out there. Happy Father's day

[stutteringfatgut]

My workmate and I have been getting fatter and fatter ever since we started working here together. When we first got hired, we were both in decent shape and always talked about staying active after work. Back then, we packed smaller lunches, drank protein shakes, and joked about not turning into the older guys around the office who spent most of the day snacking. But long hours, stress, and the constant availability of food slowly changed our habits without either of us really noticing at first.

It started with little things. Someone would bring donuts into the break room in the morning, and we would each grab one with coffee. Then it became fast-food lunches because it was easier than cooking ahead of time. Before long, we had developed a routine of ordering huge meals together after especially stressful days. The office itself seemed built around eating — birthday cakes, catered meetings, vending machines, and coworkers always offering snacks. Sitting at desks all day only made it easier for the weight to creep on month after month.

As the years passed, the changes became impossible to ignore. Our work shirts started fitting tighter across the stomach, and we both laughed about needing bigger pants every few months. Walking up the stairs left us more winded than it used to, and lunch breaks became less about taking a quick meal and more about fully relaxing while overeating together. Instead of encouraging each other to stay healthy, we almost accidentally encouraged each other to indulge more. If one of us ordered dessert, the other usually did too. It became part of our friendship.

Now, whenever we look back at old employee photos from when we first started, it almost feels like we are looking at different people. The younger versions of ourselves standing in those pictures seem leaner, more energetic, and almost unfamiliar. These days, we joke that this job has been more effective at putting weight on us than anything else in life. Even our coworkers notice it, teasing us about our growing appetites and our daily trips to the snack machine. Still, despite all the weight we have gained together, there is something oddly comforting about sharing those routines, meals, and long workdays side by side over the years.

[stutteringfatgut]

I spent the day with Granddad today. Ever since I was a kid, I had always spent a lot of time with him after school while my parents were working late. Some of my earliest memories are of riding around town in his old car, the seats creaking beneath him as he laughed at his own stories and searched for somewhere to eat. We rarely cooked at home when I stayed with him. Instead, we made a routine out of visiting local buffets where the staff knew him by name and would jokingly point him toward the fresh trays coming out of the kitchen. As a kid, I thought it was the greatest thing in the world — endless food, endless desserts, and hours spent sitting together talking between plates.

One summer, when I was around ten years old, I stayed with him nearly every day. Looking back, that summer changed both of us in different ways. Granddad already weighed close to 300 pounds back then, and his appetite seemed almost legendary to me. He encouraged me to eat just as much as he did, always telling me that a growing boy needed “real meals.” Every afternoon became another trip to a diner, buffet, or barbecue place, followed by evenings snacking in front of the television. By the end of the summer, I had gained almost thirty pounds myself. At the time, neither of us thought much of it. To Granddad, gaining weight was almost a sign of comfort and happiness.

As the years passed, Granddad continued getting bigger. By the time I graduated high school, he was well over 500 pounds, moving slower than he once had and needing extra effort just to get around the house. Despite that, he never lost his sense of humor. After I finished college, he proudly dug through old storage bins and handed me some clothes from what he called his “thinner days.” I remember holding up enormous shirts and pants while he laughed, claiming that one day I would probably outgrow them too. To him, it was almost a family tradition being passed down.

Today, he introduced me to a few of his longtime friends. They were all big men themselves, gathered around the table telling stories while finishing off takeout containers and joking with each other nonstop. The moment Granddad mentioned how much weight I had put on since college, they all started teasing me. One of them laughed and said that within a few years I would probably join their “club of fat men” once I crossed the 300-pound threshold. Everyone burst out laughing, including Granddad, who seemed strangely proud at the idea.

By the end of the visit, even the short walk from the car to the front door left Granddad winded. I helped steady him as we slowly made our way back inside the house. His breathing grew heavier with every few steps, and once we reached the living room, he carefully lowered himself onto the couch with a deep sigh of relief. He sat there catching his breath, one hand resting on his huge stomach while the television played softly in the background. Even seeing how much age and weight had slowed him down, there was still something comforting about being there with him, just like when I was a kid spending afternoons at his side.

[stutteringfatgut]

Dad was surprisingly proud that his son was fatter than him now. For years, he had joked that it was only a matter of time before the family resemblance became impossible to ignore. Whenever old family photos came out, he would point at pictures of himself from the same age and compare them side by side, laughing about how similar their habits had become. What started as teasing gradually turned into a point of pride for him as his son grew older and broader with each passing year.

At family gatherings, Dad would often tell stories about the days when his son could easily outrun him, climb trees, or spend entire afternoons playing sports without getting tired. Those memories always ended with him gesturing toward his son and chuckling about how different things looked now. Relatives would join in the laughter as the two sat together at the dinner table, both reaching for second helpings while exchanging playful remarks about who could eat more. Dad never seemed embarrassed by the comparison. Instead, he treated it almost like a milestone.

The change had happened gradually. Late-night snacks, holiday feasts, weekend restaurant trips, and years of shared routines had slowly added up. Father and son had spent countless hours sitting together over meals, talking about life, work, and family. Along the way, their eating habits became intertwined. What Dad considered normal portions became normal for his son as well, and eventually the younger man's larger frame began to surpass his father's. The first time someone pointed out that his son now outweighed him, Dad's reaction was not shock but a wide grin.

These days, whenever the subject comes up, Dad still gets a satisfied look on his face. He jokes that he spent years setting the standard only to have his son raise it even higher. Sitting together in the living room after a big family meal, the two often share a laugh about it. Beneath the humor is a genuine sense of connection. To Dad, it isn't really about the number on a scale. It's about seeing pieces of himself reflected in the next generation and remembering all the years they spent together building those memories, one meal and one conversation at a time.

[stutteringfatgut]

Dad, wearing nothing but a pair of stretched swim trunks, had spent the entire afternoon parked beside the buffet table and grill. Every time someone thought he was finally finished eating, he would wander back over for another plate stacked high with burgers, chips, barbecue, and slices of pie. His round stomach pushed heavily against the waistband of his bathing suit, and by the end of the evening he moved slower with each step, letting out satisfied groans as he lowered himself into a lounge chair near the pool.

The summer heat, mixed with the enormous meal, quickly caught up with him. He leaned back in the chair with one arm draped over his belly, his chest rising and falling heavily as the sounds of laughter and splashing water echoed around the backyard. The younger kids kept jumping into the pool nearby, sending occasional sprays of water onto his legs, but he barely reacted. His overstuffed stomach rested prominently in his lap, and every so often he would rub it absentmindedly while fighting to keep his eyes open.

Before long, Dad completely gave in to the food coma. His head tilted back against the chair, his mouth slightly open as he drifted into a deep sleep beside the pool. The adults nearby chuckled quietly at the sight of him snoring softly in the fading sunlight, still clutching an empty paper plate in one hand. Every now and then his belly would jiggle slightly with each heavy breath, making it obvious just how full he had gotten during the cookout.

Even asleep, he looked completely content. The smell of chlorine and grilled food lingered in the warm evening air while the party continued around him. Nobody bothered waking him up right away; it had become part of the family tradition to see Dad completely overeat at summer gatherings and eventually pass out near the pool after declaring he was “only having one more plate.”

[stutteringfatgut]

After 16 months of this new nutrition program, I can see it has produced the results we were hoping for in our next generation of soldiers. Their transformation has reshaped not only their appearance, but also the structure of their social order. A clear hierarchy has formed within their ranks, with the heaviest soldiers naturally becoming the leaders and the most respected members of the unit. Their larger builds are now viewed as symbols of authority, discipline, and dedication to the program. Younger recruits admire them, often competing to gain more mass in hopes of earning the same level of status and influence.

Daily life within the barracks has changed dramatically as a result. Mealtimes have become major events, with soldiers encouraged to consume large portions and constantly maintain their growing physiques. Conversations revolve around weight gain goals, favorite foods, and who has managed to outgrow their uniforms the fastest. The bigger a soldier becomes, the more attention and admiration he receives from the others. Senior officers have even begun rewarding those who show the greatest physical growth, reinforcing the belief that bulk represents strength and leadership.

The fitness test has also been redesigned to better accommodate their heavier bodies and new standards of performance. Traditional endurance exercises have been reduced, replaced with activities that emphasize stability, power, and resilience. Running distances are shorter, rest periods are longer, and specialized equipment has been introduced to support the soldiers’ larger frames. Rather than judging speed or agility, evaluations now focus on how well each soldier can carry and manage his increased body mass while still completing essential tasks.

Despite skepticism from outsiders, morale within the program has never been higher. The soldiers take pride in their physiques and in the culture they have created together. What began as an experimental nutrition initiative has evolved into an entirely new vision of military identity, one where greater bulk is associated with confidence, respect, and command. The results after these 16 months suggest that this new generation of soldiers has fully embraced the program and the values that come with it.

[stutteringfatgut]

Grilling Season

[stutteringfatgut]

woke up to the smell of bacon drifting through the apartment again.

It’s been like this every morning for months now.

At first, when the weight started piling onto us, we laughed it off. Called it a bulk. Said we were finally filling out. Every greasy breakfast became another excuse.

Another stack of pancakes. Another late-night takeout run. Another promise to “start eating better tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never came.

By the second month, neither of us recognized the numbers on the scale anymore. Our faces looked softer. Rounder. Our stomachs pressed tighter against our shirts every week.

During the third month, we stopped going into work altogether. We told our employers our clothes didn’t fit anymore as a joke.

The joke was that it was true.

Now we’re five months in.

The apartment always smells like grease. Empty containers cover the counters. We spend most days half-dressed in stretched boxers, too swollen and sluggish to go anywhere for long.

This morning, I waddled into the kitchen while he stood over the stove, frying another pound of bacon.

I asked him quietly, “Do you think I’m getting fat?”

He looked over his shoulder at me for a long moment before smiling.

“You look fine.”

Then he reached out and slowly patted my bloated stomach while the bacon crackled behind him.

His hand lingered on my stomach longer than it should have.

The grease popping behind him was the only sound in the apartment.

“You’re fine,” he repeated softly, like he was trying to calm an animal.

I looked down at myself. My gut hung heavy over the waistband of my boxers now, pale skin stretched tight and shiny under the kitchen light. Even standing there made me tired.

I remembered when we used to go to the gym together after work.

That felt like somebody else’s life.

My roommate turned back to the stove and laid down another pack of bacon. The smell hit me immediately—thick, salty, overwhelming. My stomach growled hard enough to hurt.

“You hungry?” he asked.

I should’ve said no.

Instead, I nodded.

He grinned without looking at me.

“Good.”

By the time breakfast was ready, I was already breathing hard from standing there too long. We ate in silence at the couch, plates balanced on our stomachs because there was nowhere else for them to go anymore.

The TV droned in the background. Neither of us were really watching it.

At some point, I noticed the indentation my body had permanently left in the couch cushions.

At some point, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my own feet while standing.

At some point, I stopped caring.

My roommate reached over for another strip of bacon and glanced at me.

“We should order pizza tonight,” he said casually.

And before I could stop myself, I whispered:

“Yeah… that sounds good.”

[stutteringfatgut]

Dream Bod

[stutteringfatgut]

The local gym is fat guy friendly

[stutteringfatgut]

may the 4th be with you

[stutteringfatgut]

The new army nutrition program is produce some interesting result. All subject seem to put on 50-80lb in the past 3 months. the cadets get new uniforms each week to accommodate their fat. But most wander around the base, completely shirtless. Meals at the mess hall has become a competition among the cadets as they keep getting fatter and fatter.

[stutteringfatgut]

My Cousin is getting married. We got fat together growing up. When we graduate high school, we were in the overweight range in our Bmi. So we decided to have a competition to see who can get fattest before getting married. By the time he announced his engagement, he weigh 350lb. I still have him beat by 70lbs.

Renting the Tuxedos was a memorable experience. the button on the suits holding on as our fat bellies press against it. We both knew the tuxedos need to give us some breathing room as we plan to eat heavily at the reception after doing all the speeches.

[stutteringfatgut]

Moving back in with dad has done some damage on our waistlines. Dad would order and cook a lot of food at each meal. Within a month, we were walking around shirtless and constantly stuffing our faces. He told me girls now day prefer a guy with meat on their bones. After a year of dad's diet, i am officially fatter than him now.